


An audit of the soul

by Wavecloud19



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Priest2020, oRTE canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wavecloud19/pseuds/Wavecloud19
Summary: I was waiting for someone to jump onto the RTE Comic Relief sketch featuring our very own lovely, sorrowful priest in a confessional in Ireland (along with some Normal People). Since no one has so far, I thought i'd give it a go.This will be a fairly slow burn.Title has been nicked from Priest's soul destroying speech to Connell Waldron.
Relationships: Fleabag & Priest (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 210





	1. A new friend

**Author's Note:**

> So the plot line of this fic was initially written as a joke for some fwends off the top of my head. Hopefully I can do the new #Priest2020 canon justice.
> 
> Stay safe #wearamask
> 
> Thanks folks

She had tried. She really had. After the heartbreak at the bus stop. To stop that disappearing thing she did. That only _he_ had noticed.

_Look, I tried ok?_

And she had stopped shagging around. She hadn’t called the lawyer, or Harry, or anybody else. She’d called Belinda. Not for a quick shag. But because she genuinely enjoyed her company.

_Actually, I tried for a shag. Belinda said no. Again._

She was exercising more. Trying that whole avocado on toast thing and had been phoning Claire at least once a week.

Plus she had a new friend now. One who made her go on at least one walk a day, sometimes two, and hung out with her at the cafe and would watch horror films with her without complaining.

Ok, it was a dog. Her new friend was a dog. She’d gotten him from the local rescue centre a few weeks after the bus stop. After _he’d_ left her. She had been wondering around town, casually avoiding going anywhere near his church and texting Claire to ask her for all the details on Klare (Claire _had_ ended up finding Klare at the airport and he had extended his stay in London for another three weeks during which they has holed up in a hotel for, seemingly, an epic bone session).

_Not jealous._

Anyway, she had been harassing Claire for details when a high pitched bark had caught her attention. He was a scruffy little thing, pulling at his leash, jumping around and generally causing chaos. He had been standing next to a fundraising table emblazoned with the words ‘Dog Rescue North London’.

She didn’t know why, but she’d been drawn to him, had ceased her texting torment and headed straight over. The rescue centre was trying to raise awareness of their dogs and to find sponsors. It turned out this little guy had been in the centre for quite a while, was having trouble with finding some new owners, and he and his carer, Cara, were on a mission today to try and find a new owner.

‘His name’s Panda,’ Cara had said to her as she bent down to say hello. ‘Some sort of terrier cross, but we’re not entirely sure. Maybe some poodle in him too.’

He had curly golden fur that felt silky soft as she ran her hands through it and scritched behind his ears. He couldn’t be described as pretty. Maybe that was why she was so drawn to him. He had a nervous tic in one eye, which made it look like he was winking at her and his short tail ricocheted off the table next to him as he jumped up and down onto her legs.

‘You can pick him up if you like,’ Cara had edged a little closer, perhaps trying to suss out Panda’s re-homing potential. 'He doesn't tend to like many people, but he seems to like you.'

As she picked him up, his tail now bouncing furiously off her, and his front claws gripping at her jacket, she’d known he was hers.

There had been a small fallout at the news that she had acquired a dog:  
“You can’t even take care of yourself” - Claire  
"He looks a bit like you” - Godmother  
“He’s a bit ugly, let him sit with me darl” - Joe. "..." - Dad  
“But... you never said you wanted a dog…” - Harry

But overall, her new friend was perfect. She’d gotten him a bright green collar, and a bed which he merely stared at before jumping straight onto her pillow. And he made her feel wanted.

He helped her to forget that someone else hadn’t wanted her.

She had had to buy a new hutch for Hilary and Stephanie. One with a studier latch. And after a long morning of Panda torturing them, she had raised the hutch so he couldn't reach up and try and sniff them out for his next meal. 

A month or so into their new friendship, Panda was now walking her forcefully down the street, pulling at his collar, barking at every dog he passed and peeing up every lamppost. She liked allowing herself to be pulled behind him, staring into space, thinking about her priest whilst simultaneously trying to force him from her mind.

The leaves glistened, holding onto some of this mornings rainfall, and a young boy ran gleefully up to Panda before promptly turning and speeding back to his mother as Panda snarled angrily at him.

‘Good boy,’ she whispered quietly to her dog before calling out an apology to the boy. ‘Sorry, he doesn’t like strangers. Best to keep a small distance.’

His mother grabbed her son’s hand and crossed the street hurriedly.

It was a happy coincidence that Panda didn’t like people. It wasn’t that she was desperate to avoid them. She just didn’t really feel like talking to them these days. She would be halfway through a conversation with someone and suddenly the way they licked their lip or crinkled their eyes would remind her of her priest. And then she would find herself off down a rabbit warren of memories, thinking about how he had brushed her cheek softly as he gazed at her or how he had pressed her against the wall at the wedding, their chests pressed together, noses touching, his eyes searching for hers.

_I’m fucking over it._

She pushed him out of her mind again as Panda turned them down another quiet street. He was sniffing in the bushes on the side of the road, nose twitching, eye winking rapidly.

Suddenly he barked and tugged harder at his leash.

‘What have you seen?’ she stumbled slightly, trying to keep up. ‘What is it? Chill out.’

He growled and then barked at the bush before turning back to look at her, head tipped to one side.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what it was.’

They carried on their walk. In the distance, she could hear some gentle chatter. A tall sacred building emerged from behind some trees and her stomach sank.

‘Fuck.’

_Fuck._

‘Panda we can’t go that way. Come on,’ she tried to drag the dog back the way they had come. He barked and ignored her, pulling her closer to the church.

His church.

It was Sunday. The noise was probably his congregation, gathering outside after the morning mass. He would be there. She was banned.

Her heart beat rapidly as she followed Panda, each step taking them closer to him. Could she just stay by the road? Take a quick peek around the bushes? He had banned her from the church, but not from outside it. She _could_ just have a quick look.

It had been two months since they had seen each other. Suddenly the desire to see how he was was burning inside her. She could feel it in her throat. Would he look happy? Did she want him to look happy?

They had reached the pathway leading up to the church. Panda was straining at his lead. Whatever scent he had smelt earlier was clearly leading him towards the church.

_Probably a fucking fox._

She felt hot. Just one peek. Just to check. She edged slowly towards the path. A tall hedge blocking her view of the gathering.

Quick as a flash, she poked her head around the hedge and there he was. He had his back to her. He was wearing his vestments. Green. Emerald really. His hair looked lighter. Almost grey. Maybe the sun was catching it. And he was taller than she remembered, stockier. 

She couldn’t look away. Her priest. Right there in front of her. Metres away. He was talking to one of his parishioners. A brown haired lady with ruddy cheeks. The parishioner smiled at her priest and then looked over his shoulder.

_Fuck._

They had made direct eye contact. She was waving at her. And then her priest was turning...

_FUCK._

She prepared herself to see his face. To see the smile she had been dreaming of for the last two months.

_FUCK._

It wasn’t him.

_What?_

It wasn’t her priest. This guy was old. More like her dad’s age. He was beaming at her and waving her up the path. Panda pulled at the lead and she took some tentative steps.

‘Come on up, my child,’ the priest called out to her in a quiet but commanding voice.

‘Oh, I uh...’ she did not want this.

‘It’s ok, don’t be shy,’ he beamed.

‘For fuck’s sake, Panda,’ she muttered to her dog. Panda whined.

‘Hello,’ the priest began as she joined him. ‘Beryl here mentioned you were hiding away down there. There’s no need to be shy. We welcome all God’s children.’ He looked down at Panda, ‘and animals, of course.’

Where was he? Her priest? Why wasn’t he at his church? She had to know.

‘Hi, yeah. Thanks. I, ah, well I wasn’t sure I could bring my dog. He’s a bit wild.’

Panda sat happily by her heal, panting, tail thumping on the gravel. For once, good as gold.

‘Well, he usually is anyway.’

‘So, are you interested in learning about our church?’ The priest smiled and his long grey eyebrows fluttered in the breeze. ‘You’d be very welcome. Perhaps the little chap could stay at home for the service.’

He bent down and scratched Panda’s ears softly. Panda lay down on his front paws, contentedly.

_Of course he likes a Priest._

Like dog, like owner.

‘Actually, I was... well I, um-‘

‘Father!’ A voice interrupted them. ‘Father!’ The voice was immediately accompanied by its owner. Pam. Pam has been her priest’s... helper? Employee? Maid? Live-in lover? She had never asked and he’d never told her.

Pam brushed her hand on the priest’s robes, ‘Father, the Collins’ are off now. Oh... hello love,’ Pam glanced at her, her eye line falling down to Panda before making its way slowly back up.

The priest bustled off towards the Collins’ and Beryl, the ‘helpful’ parishioner who had ushered her into this mess, followed him cheerily.

Pam glared at her.

‘Ok, well, I’ll just,’ she pointed towards the road and Panda jumped to his feet.

‘He isn’t here anymore,’ Pam spoke softly.

She wasn’t sure if she had misheard. She turned back, ‘what?’

‘He isn’t here. Some thanks to you for that.’

Panda jumped up Pam’s legs, his claws catching on a thread of her jean leggings.

In shock, Pam shrieked, ‘get him off me!’

‘Panda!’ She tried to pull him away.

Panda yipped happily and scrabbled at Pam’s shins.

‘Can you get the dog off me please?’

‘Sorry, sorry, he doesn’t like people,’ she tugged at the leash again, this time managing to drag Panda off Pam’s legs. A pulled thread ran down her leggings where Panda had caught his claw.

‘Thank you,’ Pam called out, looking around at the congregation and smiling widely before turning back, her eyes narrowed. ‘You broke him,’ her voice was soft again. ‘Father Michael is here now. He isn’t here anymore. So there’s no need for you to be.’

Pam turned and flounced back towards the gathering, braids tossed over her shoulder behind her.


	2. Just fine, thanks for asking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all.  
> Thanks for reading.  
> Bye all.
> 
> #wearamask

“You broke him…”

“He isn’t here anymore…”

She hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind all week. Where had he gone? Surely it was an unplanned departure? He’d only been at the church for a few months when they had met. And why had Pam indicated it was _her_ fault he was gone? What did Pam know?

‘Come on, Panda,’ she tugged on his lead. He was protesting, almost as if he knew where they were going and was about as unenthusiastic about it as his owner was.

‘You brought the dog?’ Claire was approaching from the opposite direction.

_Nice greeting._

‘Yeah.’

‘She’s not going to like it,’ they reached the front gate and turned towards the house.

‘I can’t leave him alone. He gets anxiety.’

Claire merely huffed and stomped up the front steps, ringing the doorbell aggressively.

_And he’s my only friend._

‘Girls!’ The door opened and they were greeted by a fake toothy smile from their Dad’s new wife, or the Bitch as they had taken to calling her. ‘So lovely to see you,’ she clutched Claire by the shoulders and planted air kisses on either side of her face.

Stepping back and ushering them in, her smile froze as she noticed Panda.

‘What is that doing here?’

‘Uh, well-‘

‘It can’t come in my house,’ she grimaced before turning her head towards the kitchen, ‘DARLING?!’ She called through the house. ‘Darling?’

‘Ok, well I’ll just skip lunch then shall I-?’

‘No!’ Claire jumped in, eyes wide. ‘Put him in the garden, he’ll be fine out there.’

‘Well,’ said the bitch, eyes flicking between Panda and Claire, ‘I don’t think so, it might be best if it leaves? We’ll miss you of course...’ she pointed a finger.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Claire snatched Panda’s leash from her hand and tugged, walking hurriedly down the hallway towards the back door. Panda ran beside her gleefully, as if they were in a race.

‘Hello Dad,’ she called as she opened the door and ushered the yapping dog outside. ‘All done, see?’

‘Right, right,’ her dad came blustering down the hallway, ‘hello girls.’

‘I just hope the dog doesn’t get near the orchids,’ the bitch was muttering, eyes wide and accusatory.

‘Girls,’ their dad continued, wringing his hands together, ‘lunch is set up. Come on in.’

****

‘...so we just decided to do a little month in Italy, instead of six weeks,’ the bitch finished, discussing her latest art exhibition plans. ‘Venice and Milan, the Italians are ecstatic to have me.’

As was the norm, the lunch had consisted of an onslaught of verbal abuse intermingled with boastful commentary of the bitch’s life. Every so often, Panda’s whines could be heard as he sat at the backdoor trying to get back in.

‘We might try and get Harry to come along this time,’ the bitch was blathering on. ‘You know, as a live model next to his body mould.’

Gazing at the bitch, eyes glazed over, she sighed heavily, remembering Pam’s face, “you broke him...”

What did that mean? Had he quit the church altogether? He would have told her surely? Her eyes fell on a magazine on the side table in the corner of the room. It was him. Her priest. On the cover of the magazine. It was like she had willed him back into her life!

She reached out and grabbed the newsletter, the quote on the front page jumping out at her next to a picture of him: _“Sweet sorrow as we part, sweet blessings in those tarts.”_

‘Ohhh yes,’ the magazine was snatched from her hands. The bitch scanned her eyes over the cover before stashing the magazine beside her.

‘Our priest, you remember him do you?’ She emphasised the word ‘our’ with a flourish of the hands.

Her chest tightened at the words. Remember him? Think about him every second, more like.

‘He left the parish quite suddenly,’ the bitch continued. ‘He would have come to see us you know but it was so quick. Sending us the newsletter was a nice gesture, wasn’t it darling?’ She reached over and rubbed her husbands arm.

‘Yeh, uh, yes.’

Claire was eyeing her sharply. Her pulse was racing. She wanted to read that article, find out where he had gone. She wanted to see the picture, see his face. He was in a dark green robe. Had his hair grown?

‘And it appears he’s gone back to Ireland. Such a shame. Dublin, wasn’t it, darling,’ she glanced at her husband. ‘We were going to have him back for our first wedding anniversary weren’t-‘

‘I have to check on Panda,’ she stood abruptly. Everyone stared at her. Her dad was blinking, Claire with eyes narrowed and the bitch had her eyes wide, a false look of hurt at the interruption.

She rushed out to the backdoor, hurtling round to the alleyway, Panda flying behind her. She crouched down against the wall, knees bent, hands on her face as Panda tried to snuffle his way to her face.

Gone to Ireland? He’d left the country? Just to get away from her?

_What a cunt._

She grabbed Panda’s face between her hands and buried her nose in his fur.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone out here,’ she whispered into his fur.

Her priest was everywhere. Her mind was racing with thoughts of him, the moments they had had together, his laugh as she teased him about the bible, the way his eyes crinkled and shone as he gazed at her, the way he ever so casually brushed her arm or hand as they talked, leaving a touch so electric that she sometimes thought he had branded her.

She could hear him, his comforting gentle voice as he conducted his sermon, his excitable chatter as he played with Hilary, a look of adoration as he gazed into the guinea pigs beady eyes and one of joy as he looked up into hers.

‘What are you doing out here?’

The sound of her sister jolted her out of her memories.

‘Just checking on my dog,’ she gave Panda an ear scratch for emphasis.

‘Well, come back in, you’ve left m-...’

She was uninterrupted.

‘Girls,’ it was their dad. He walked tentatively around the corner, his arms swinging by his side. ‘Enjoying lunch?’

Their heads snapped towards him in unison as he chuckled softly to himself.

‘So...’ he looked between them expectantly, his fingers fidgeting by his sides. He pushed his hand into his pocket and brought out an envelope, shoving it into Claire’s hand.

‘I, ah... well, and, you know... it’s been some time... so, ah... I thought I’d... for you girls.’ He grinned at them and turned on his head, scurrying back around the corner and into the house.

Claire turned to look at her on the floor, her eyebrows raised. She ripped the envelope open and narrowed her eyes, ‘it’s tickets to a new “Women’s Speak” conference next weekend.’

She turned over the document, ‘oh, for crying out loud, it’s in Dublin.’

‘What?!’

_Dublin?_

‘He’s got us plane tickets with Aer Lingus...’

‘Aer Lingus? Aer... lingus...’

‘Oh shut up,’ Claire laughed softly. ‘Next weekend? I was supposed to see Klare, but i can move that, and I suppose I could miss my Pilates class on Saturday, and...’ she tutted, ‘I’m supposed to be meeting a business associate for dinner but...’

She sat back, pulling Panda onto her lap. Dublin!

****

The priest was doing fine. Just fine. Thank you very much. Definitely doing fine, thanks for asking.

He felt like this was all he said to people these days, when they asked him how he was, how London had been, how his new church was doing…

Just fine, thanks for asking.

He actually _had_ been very lucky. The request to transfer back to a church Dublin had been processed very quickly, mostly thanks to Father Bryan, his mentor from the seminary. Father Bryan had helped find a replacement at St. Ethelreds and had arranged a transfer to the Archdiocese of Dublin, complete with a new parish for him in a matter of days.

He liked being in Dublin, he was busier, had a much bigger congregation and found the days passed him by with very little time to himself. Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said of the nights which seemed to drag on like an eternity.

This was his first day off since arriving in Ireland a month ago. He had spent the day wondering around the familiar streets, finding a certain level of peace in his heart that he had been missing ever since... well ever since _she_ had come into his life. His atheist. Not _his_ atheist. _The_ atheist.

As he ambled by the riverside, the peace crashed abruptly out of his body as he overheard two women talking ahead of him. English women. They didn’t even sound like her, one had a slightly off putting northern twang, but the accent was enough. It jolted him back into his memories and there she was, standing in front of him. She had that tentative smile on her face, not the wide confident one, not the one she’d used when she was teasing him. No. The shy one, half a smile, the one he had seen when she had finally let him in, as they had lain next to each other in her bed, on their sides, foreheads together, legs intertwined, both slightly out of breath as they looked into each other’s eyes and he tried desperately to work out what she was thinking.

He sat down heavily on a bench and pushed his head into his hands. His hair was getting long, he hadn’t been to a barber since before he’d met her. A few months at least. He didn’t know where the cheap ones were these days in Dublin. He pushed a loose strand away from his face restlessly. He could remember reaching his hand up, stroking his finger softly down her cheek, resting his palm on her jaw as he attempted to memorise every inch of her. And she had smiled her small, secretive smile, set her hand on top of his and leaned towards him to place her lips softly on his. He’d felt a soft moan escape his lips as they lay together, her hand reaching over to his back to hug him closer, his hand stroking gently down her jawline to her chin.

‘Move yourself along the bench there.’

He jerked his head up. An elderly man with a walking stick was standing in front of him, frowning.

‘You’re away taking up that whole seat,’ the man scowled.

‘Ah, sorry, sorry,’ he shifted hastily to one end of the beach. ‘Sorry, I was off in my own world.’ He smiled at the man.

‘Could tell that, laddie. Best mind yourself so,’ the man scowled some more before leaning back on the bench and pulling his hat over his face.

‘Sorry,’ he repeated before standing up and continuing his walk down the riverside.

Heading back to his church, he wandered into the vestry and searched for a glass and his bottle of whiskey. His ‘office’ was much brighter here, the parishioners liked to send him cards, pictures from the children and fancier cards from the adults, wishing him well, noting their thanks and generally trying to buy their way into his prayers.

It was nice to have so many well wishers, but as he took a large sip of whiskey and sat back in his chair, his heart felt heavy. He was lonely. No matter how busy he kept himself, how many new parishioners he met, _she_ always had a way of sneaking her way back into his mind. She reminded him he was lonely. Those few weeks, before he had ruined it in the confessional, as they had tiptoed around each other as ‘friends’, they had been some of the happiest of his life, he sighed to himself.

Did she know he was in Dublin now? He hadn’t wanted to make a big fuss of it, but Pam had insisted on putting something in the newsletter. If she just googled his name, she would find the article, one on the St Ethelreds church website bidding him farewell and one on the St Andrew’s church website, welcoming their new priest. She could find him if she wanted, he sighed again.

‘You told her not to come and see you,’ he muttered to himself as he downed his whiskey.

***

‘Aer Lingus...’ she laughed at Claire again, ‘come on! Aer _Lingus_. Not my favourite kind of ‘lingus, is it yours?’

Claire ignored her and studied the safety video that was playing on their screens.

‘What’s Klare’s favourite kind of ‘lingus?’ She persisted, ignoring Claire’s frown. ‘He’ll miss it this weekend, I bet,’ she nudged her sister. ‘I like my ‘lingus to be more cunn-’

‘Will you just be quiet,’ Claire snapped quietly, ‘honestly, if you’re going to be like this all weekend.’

She sat back in her seat, pleased with the reaction she had managed to produce from her sister. She was excited about the prospect of a weekend away. Panda had been packed off to the bank manager’s house. She had left him standing worriedly at his front door as the puppy ricocheted around his front room, bouncing off the cream sofa. He had also agreed to swing by the cafe and feed Hilary and Stephanie whilst she was away.

‘Guinea pigs just need feeding once a day do they?’ The bank manager had questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

_One guinea pig. One hamster._

‘Yes, once is fine, thanks,’ she called out, running down the pathway before he could change his mind.

‘I should probably get my dog sitter a gift for helping out,’ she said casually to Claire.

‘Shhhh,’ was the only response she got as Claire watched the flight attendant demonstrate how to tie a life jacket.

She wasn’t sure why she was feeling so giddy. Maybe the idea of a short holiday, maybe the fact that it was free.

_It’s nothing to do with where we’re going._

It was nothing to do with the destination. Ireland. Dublin. _He_ was from Dublin. He was back in Ireland.

She settled back into her seat, a small smile across her lips.

_What? Dublin is a big city._

She closed her eyes as the plane took off.

_There’s no chance we’ll bump into him._

No chance.


	3. You don't even go to church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be priest and Flea together at last next chapter!
> 
> thanks for reading :)

The priest walked slowly from the confession booth, the chain running through his fingers. That had been strange. The young boy, half his age probably, just a kid, really. Showing up to confess about his romantic troubles. And then the girl, with the chain.

His heart felt light. The idea of the young couple reconciling sat well with him. He punched a fist up towards the sky, a thank you to up above, before looking around surreptitiously. No one had seen. _She_ would have laughed at him for that, he thought sadly.

In the vestry, he placed the chain into the lost and found along with a note to indicate the date. They would keep it for a month to see if it’s owner returned and following that, it would be donated. Somehow, he seriously doubted that couple would remember to come and pick up the chain.

He sat down and sighed. What on Earth had he said to them? To the boy especially. And why had he said it? That was the first time he’d even allowed himself to think those things, let alone say it out loud.

But the truth was, he _hadn’t_ been able to sleep. And during those long nights, as he lay in his new, but very old, church issue bed, the scratchy sheets brushing against his arms as he tossed and turned, all he could think of was her.

He could remember how she smelt as he leaned into her for their first kiss, warm and familiar as he had brushed his fingers on her lips, could hear both their hearts beating rapidly. It had a dreamlike quality as he pictured her sparking eyes, piercing his soul, desperate for answers. And then he could remember her hands on his face, his on the back of her neck, pulling her closer, her body pressed against his...

And then he would snap out of it. And he was back in his own bed, heart lurching as he realised she wasn’t there, desperately trying to ignore the excitement in his crotch as a stern painting of Jesus stared down at him. He would push back the covers, kneel on the hard wooden floor by his bed, hands clasped together and bow his head solemnly, rambling words of hope, desperation, pleading with Him to help him, to end the test, to free him and guide him back to peace.

He couldn’t bear it. He felt like he was starting to lose his sanity ever so slightly. He would be out doing house calls to his parishioners, walking down the road, and suddenly she would be there in his head, like the devil, taunting him, daring him to give in, to call her. She would be there beckoning him to relive that night, as they had moved together under her sheets, his hands in her hair, hers clawing at his back as they desperately came together.

It was torture. Just like he had told that lad. Exquisite torture. And he wasn’t sure it was worth it. Maybe, he thought to himself, if the boy came back to retrieve his chain, he’d warn him off. Let him know the pain isn’t worth the moments of pure joy as his heart swelled at the sight of her.

***

The trip so far had not been fun. Claire was exceptionally moody, pulling her phone out of her pocket every two seconds to check whether Klare had messaged her and the “Women’s Speak” talk had been depressing and only served to highlight the fact that she should not be pining after her priest.

_I’m not pining._

Still it hadn’t yet managed to take the spring out of her step and she was determined to make the most of the weekend. As they walked around the streets of Dublin, it struck her just how many churches there were. It made sense of course, with Ireland's history, but each time she saw one felt like a slap in the face directly from the God that she didn’t believe in. _His_ God. A reminder that her priest was not her priest at all.

Claire was on the phone now, her frown had transformed into a sickly smile as she regaled the ‘delights’ of the feminist event to Klare.

_Panda wouldn’t ignore me._

Another street, another church. She glanced slyly at Claire. He was in one of these churches. He was somewhere in Dublin, the bitch had said so. Was going to his new church a violation of his initial ban? Or had that been lifted the minute he’d left St Ethelreds?

She took a few casual steps towards the church, Claire followed. It was obvious she was completely unaware of her surroundings, so engrossed in her talk with Klare, she seemed to just be following her sister.

_Fuck it._

She turned sharply, heading directly for the church's open doors. The signs showed that a service was about to start. She barrelled in through the lobby and entered the large echoey chapel. The church was busy. Much busier than his mass in London had been, that one time she’d attended his service.

He must be happier to have a busier church. She felt a flip in her stomach at the thought.

Not that this was his church.

_But it could be._

The chances were pretty slim.

 _Not impossible_.

She watched from the doorway as the alter boys entered, followed by the priest. His hair was dark, the temples peppered with grey. He stepped onto the alter and placed his half moon spectacles on his nose.

_Ok fine. Not his church._

‘What are you doing?’ A whispered accusation flew into her ear. ‘We are not attending mass, get out.’

She allowed herself to be dragged roughly from the church and braced herself as they emerged outside. She turned with a sigh towards Claire.

‘What are you thinking?! This weekend is bad enough without forced mass!’ Claire was scowling.

_Ouch._

‘Ok, well do you want to go to the Guinness fact-‘

‘Why were you in a church?’ Claire was glaring at her. ‘You weren’t looking for you know who, were you?’

‘What?! No!’

_No._

‘You don’t even go to church. And he told you not to come to his church.’

They were walking now, heading down some narrow old streets just south of the river. The clouds had gathered and fat drops of rain began falling slowly.

‘Oh for Christ’s sake. Is that why you’ve had that silly smile on all day? Because you thought you might see him?’ Claire shook her head exasperatedly.

_No._

She didn’t respond, merely tilting her head back to get a look at the grey skies.

‘Let’s go back to the hotel. The weather is awful,‘ Claire self consciously ran a hand over her hair.

I just want to see he’s ok,’ it was out of her mouth before she realised.

‘What?’ Claire snapped her head to look at her.

‘He moved to a different fucking country, Claire.’

‘His own country-‘

‘A different fucking country. I wanted to check.’

‘He told you not to,’ the rain was getting heavier now and Claire pulled them under the awning of a nearby pub.

Her spirits fell. She wasn’t going to see him. Of course she wasn’t. Dublin was fucking massive.

‘Ok,’ Claire looked at her, her face softening slightly. ‘I know the name of his church-‘

‘What?!’

‘I got the newsletter too,’ she shook her head. ‘Jake subscribed us and I haven’t gotten round to cancelling.’

That was very unlike Claire.

‘Too much playtime with Klare?’ She couldn’t resist.

‘Really?’ Claire’s eyes bugged slightly. She shook her head. ‘Listen, I know the name of his church. We can go tomorrow, but only...,’ she held up her hands, ‘if you promise to be subtle and not talk to him.’

Her heart soared.

‘Ok?’

Just a quick look! To check he was ok.

‘Ok?!’

Claire was staring at her.

‘Yes, ok. Of course,’ she sighed. She felt as if a weight had suddenly lifted from her chest. Just one quick look. Then she’d know.

‘Claire,’ she grinned at her sister.

‘The weather is shite,’ Claire ignored her. ‘Let’s get a drink here, I don’t want to ruin my hair.’

Claire walked off, not waiting for a response and pushed open the door to a dark pub.

She felt a little dazed. The idea of seeing him tomorrow was too much. It had only been two months since the bus stop. But he hadn’t left her mind since, it felt like an eternity. An infinite barrage of memories filling her senses everywhere she turned.

She followed Claire into the pub, coming to an abrupt stop as she bumped into her.

‘Claire, what are you-‘

Claire swivelled on her heel, ‘never mind, I don’t like this pub.’ She tried to herd them out the door, shuffling them backwards.

‘What? But it’s pissing down. Just a drink.’

‘No, come on,’ Claire hissed.

The pub was quiet. She could sense the regulars, white haired men and women, staring at them.

‘Claire, I’m not going out there. Look at it!’ She gestured towards the rain, now a downpour against a dark steely backdrop.

‘We’ll find another pub,’ Claire was adamant.

_So strange._

‘Come on.’

‘Claire!’ It had come out louder than she’d meant. The hum of chatter in the small pub was silenced as everyone looked up at the sisters.

She looked around at the faces, a small smile on her lips at the disruption caused. As her gaze moved round, a pair of deep brown eyes caught hers, round and puppy like.

‘Fuck.’

Her priest. It was her priest. Fuck.

Her priest was sat in a corner of the small pub, his hand holding a pen, poised above a notebook on the table. His hair was longer, slicked back off his face except for one rogue strand which fell into his eye.

She stared, eyes wide. Her cheeks felt warm and her pulse was racing. He wasn’t reacting. He just sat, one hand clenched around a whiskey tumbler. He had on a black shirt, open at the collar, the sleeves were rolled up his forearms and bunched around his elbows. His eyes were wide, liquid as he stared at her.

She could vaguely hear Claire talking to her, pulling at her arm and the chatter in the pub, which had resumed amongst the other patrons.

She swallowed, her throat was dry.

And then he stood up, one foot stepping towards her before she was suddenly pulled from the pub. Rain hammered down on her face as Claire pulled her, running through puddles towards a taxi rank.

‘Come on!’ Claire called, narrowly missing a puddle and yanking the door of a taxi open.

She followed helplessly, feet drenched in water, she could feel it seeping through the canvas pumps.

Her priest. Her priest in the exact pub she and Claire had chosen. His hair was long, a bit unkempt. And his eyes were sad, marked with dejection as he stared at her. He hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t reacted.

_What was he thinking?_

Claire called out the name of the hotel to the taxi driver and they headed down the road.

Her priest, she thought with a flutter.


	4. I miss you... all the time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Loving the comments.
> 
> Stay safe.
> 
> Thanks folks.

Back at the hotel, as Claire rushed to the shower, huffing at the puddle splash on her jeans, her sister sat on the bed. She was still in a daze. He had looked... good. Scruffy, both hair and clothes, but good. But he hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t responded to seeing them in his usual chipper manner. Of course he hadn’t.

_He’s moved to a different fucking country._

‘Sorry,’ Claire emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later rubbing a towel on her hair.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t know what to do.’

‘Oh. It’s ok.’

‘I don’t think you should go.’

‘Go where?’

To the church of course. She meant to his church.

‘To see him. I think you should leave him alone now.’

‘But I want to ask him how he is.’

‘I don’t think he wants you to.’

_Ouch._

A shot through the heart. She could almost feel physical pain at that. She closed her eyes, clenching back the tears. Why was she crying? This weekend felt like a giant elastic band had been wound up tight in her stomach, just waiting to be freed. But it was so taut, that just one wrong move could snap it, break her.

Why wouldn’t he want to see her? It had been a few months, he’d said it would pass. Surely it had passed for him by now.

It had passed for her. She wasn’t pining. Not really anyway. Sure, he drifted into her conscious a lot, and into her subconscious most nights, but it was just because she cared for him. She wasn’t pining. It would be good for them to have a quick chat, gain some closure, now the pain of the bus stop heartbreak was behind them.

_I’m not pining._

Claire was looking at the room, ‘oh, I asked for twin beds.’ She shook her head at the one king bed.

‘It’s ok. I’ll stay on my side of the bed.’

****

The priest couldn’t sleep. The moonlight was forcing its way through the thin curtains on his bedroom windows and the plumbing in the old rectory groaned loudly.

Not that either of those distractions had anything to do with his insomnia. Really they were just idle observations. Something else was on his mind. Some _one_ else, of course.

Plus, he had committed a sin. Technically, he would return it the next day, and undo the sin. For some reason, after returning home from his pitstop at his favourite pub, he had felt a strange pull towards the chain in the lost property. He was a little buzzed and he had found himself yanking the chain from the Lost and Found and twirling it between his fingers as his mind drifted back to brief encounter at the pub.

He had brought the chain back to the rectory and now, as he lay in bed, his alarm clock flashing 2.48am, the chain felt soothing between his fingers. Much more soothing than his usual rosary beads.

His atheist. In Dublin. What was she doing? And why had her sister pulled them out of the pub before he could say hi. Just one quick hi would have been nice. To see how she was.

She had looked panicked. A red tinge had coloured her cheeks as she’d stared at him, as if trying to work out why she recognised him. He liked that tinge. It made him think of the night they had spent together, pressed together, chests heaving in tandem and his lips on her neck, breathing in her scent, his hands in her hair.

What were the chances? That weird confessional, his emotional outburst in said confessional, _and_ seeing her, all in the same day.

***

She woke up with a start. The room was dark, heavy blackout curtains meant it was pitch black, despite the fact it was nearly 8. Something warm was pressed up against her back and she turned her head slightly. Claire. She smiled slightly. After going to sleep firmly on their own individual sides, it seemed her sister had migrated during the night and was now snuggling into her.

Her phone was in her hand, she must have fallen asleep holding it. It was open onto a webpage, St Andrew’s Roman Catholic Church. And there he was, in an article welcoming the new parish priest. He was smiley, in his black shirt and collar, with his arms folded across his chest. He had a slightly startled look about him, as if the photographer had caught him off guard. But he looked happy.

She edged out of bed gently, careful not to disturb Claire. She had made her decision last night. She wanted to see him, just briefly, check he was ok. And a quick google had given her the location of his church, after Claire had point blank refused to tell her.

She dressed quietly and slipped out the hotel room leaving Claire still deep in sleep.

Luckily, the rain from the day before had stopped and the day felt bright as she walked to the tram stop. She’d lain awake the night before thinking through his possible reactions to her showing up at his church: anger that she had disregarded his request to stay away, shock that she’d found him, avoidance of her altogether or maybe a gentle smile to show it was all behind him.

  
But she was ready. It was time for closure.

The church was smaller than his previous one in London, with fencing hugging the building on all sides. The lack of garden and space made her feel a little claustrophobic.

She joined the steady stream of people heading in for the service. It was busy. The pews were full and she slid into one near the front, on the aisle.

The gentle hum quietened as the alter boys made their way up to the front. And then he was there. A deep green robe, his long hair pushed back off his face, just as it had been the day before. His face had a summer tan to it and he smiled around at the congregation.

As his sermon progressed, she found herself laser focused on his expressions. The twinkle in his eye as he made a somewhat dorky religious joke, the enthusiasm as he talked about love and it’s effect on how people could live their lives. He was cheery and bright as he spoke, taking in the rows of worshipers, his hands were active. But every so often, in slight pauses between his thoughts, she thought she could sense a drop in energy, a downcast look or a sad curl to his lips. They reminded her of his face as he had turned back at the bus stop, a tear in his eye as he had told her he loved her. She sighed as she studied him.

Finally, it was time for the Communion, and she moved aside to allow the people on her row to head up to the alter. As she sat back down, her eyes flicked up towards him, and her stomach lurched as she realised he was staring at her, the same look of shock on his face as yesterday. The line was slowly forming as he stared, frozen and she glanced down at her lap, breaking eye contact, in the hope it might jolt him back to the present. After a few seconds, she looked back up to see him focused on his parishioners and she exhaled a sigh of relief.

The rest of the service felt long. Every few seconds, his gaze would flick back to hers as if checking she was still there or maybe hoping to confirm she had left.

By the end of the service she felt as if he was speaking directly to her. Their eyes were drawn to each other as the parishioners began to stand. As they filed out of the church, with her priest at the door saying his goodbyes, she remained in her pew, her pulse getting faster.

And then finally, he was next to her. She felt a soft brush on her shoulder and turned her face to see him standing beside her, smiling down at her.

‘Hello,’ the way he said it was shy but curious at the same time.

‘Hi,’ she smiled at him.

‘You’re in Dublin. And you’re at my church.’

‘Yes,’ she was hesitant. She couldn’t read his face.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

***

His office was bright. He had a solid wooden desk and she leant back against it, perched on the edge of the table as he flicked on a kettle in the corner.

He was back in his black shirt and collar, the robes hung ominously from a rail.

‘So,’ he turned and leant back against the counter, arms folded against his chest. ‘You’re in Dublin.’

‘And you’re in Dublin.’

‘I _am_ Irish.’

‘My dad sent us to a feminist conference.’

‘Ah,’ he turned back towards the kettle and began to prepare two mugs of tea.

She studied his back. It was beautiful. She wanted to reach out and stroke her fingers down it.

‘You’re at my church.’ He was still facing away from her.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought I’d banned you.’

‘I thought you meant the old one. New church, new ru-’

‘I meant all churches,’ he interrupted her quietly.

He brought the two mugs of tea over and put them on the desk behind her.

‘Do you want me to leave?’

He sat down heavily in the chair in front of her, his elbows resting on his thighs. ‘Not really.’

His fingers were steepled together and he stared up at her through partially hooded eyes.

‘I wanted to see how you were,’ she shifted slightly against the desk. They were so close to each other, his knees mere inches from her legs as he sat and she stood, leaning.

He was still staring.

‘I wanted to see if you were doing ok.’

‘That’s nice,’ his expression was kind, but his eyes were sad.

‘I saw the new priest, at St Ethelreds. I saw Pam. She looked...’ she remembered the shriek as Panda had hooked his claw into Pam’s leg, ‘well.’

‘Good,’ he barely whispered.

‘And I wondered why you had left. I hope it wasn’t because of me.’

He was silent.

His silence made her nervous. He was never silent. She carried on, ‘I got a new dog. He likes your church. Your old church… I just wanted to see you were ok.’

‘I’m not,’ it came out as a croak. He cleared his throat. ‘You wanted to see if I was ok?’

‘Yes.’ She felt awkward. His gaze was intense. She turned slightly, moving her hand to reach for the cup behind her.

Before she could reach it, he had shifted forward, his hand grabbing hers, fingers intertwined, thumb stroking her softly.

‘I’m not ok,’ he inspected their hands.

She felt her stomach tighten.

‘I moved because of you.’

Her heart skipped a beat.

_Fuck._

‘I moved here because I was fighting too hard, constantly, to stop myself from seeing you. I couldn’t do it. I just...’ he sighed deeply.

Her hand felt a tingle where he was gently stroking, she glanced down at their fingers as he stood up. He shifted closer to her, to stand in front of her, their hands still linked, their faces an inch from each other. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

She felt heat rising from her stomach to her chest. The proximity was killing her. She desperately fought the urge to lean forward and kiss him.

‘I miss you,’ he whispered quietly, eyes still firmly shut, his breathing heavy. ‘All the time.’

He licked his lip softly.

_Fuck._

She dug her free hand into the desk behind her, a desperate attempt to control herself.

He opened his eyes suddenly. A hint of shock flew through them, as if he had thought perhaps she was a mirage. His grip on her hand tightened and he shifted forward.

‘Why are you here?’ His breathing was ragged.

‘I-‘

‘Why are you here? To taunt me? To test me? I’m not strong...’ he lifted his free hand and gently grazed his thumb down her cheek to her jawline.

‘I can’t...’ he said it softly. His hand moved to her chin and his gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips.

He shifted closer again, their bodies were pressed together, his forehead against hers. He inhaled again. 

She stood stock still, a lump in her throat. She didn’t know what to do. His touch was electric as it made its way from her chin to her neck. She felt her body instinctively moving closer to his, pining for his touch.

‘You’re always in my head,’ he whispered against her lips. She could feel his breath. ‘Challenging me. I can’t see why it’s so wrong. That you’re there. In my head. That you’re here.’

His hand was on her waist now, trailing down to the bottom of her sweater, fingertips finding her bare skin.

‘I know it is wrong. But I can’t see why,’ his hand found the small of her back, he pulled her gently towards him, pressed even closer.

She let go of her grip on the table and reached her free hand up to his lips, touching them softly. He closed his eyes again as she trailed her thumb over his bottom lip. One curl of his hair fell into his face and she reached up to brush it away.

‘Your hair’s long,’ she whispered.

He opened his eyes, a laugh escaped his lips and his eyes were bright.

‘I’m busy here,’ he said quietly, casually, his hand tracing circles against the small of her back. ‘No time for the barber.’

‘I like it,’ she smiled. She had missed his laugh. Missed his friendship.

She dropped her hand from his face and he glanced down at it.

‘I’m trying desperately here not to kiss you,’ he said, staring at her hand. ‘I’m trying desperately to work out why I shouldn’t.’

‘And how is that going for you?’

He looked back up at her, ‘not good. Not good.’ His fingers were tracing her spine, moving slowly up her back, lifting her sweater as they went.

His eyes were dark, a shadow across them as they met hers, he leant towards her, his hand releasing hers and steadying himself on her waist. He brushed his lips against her jawline.

She heard an audible sigh escape her lips and he chuckled softly into her as he moved up towards her lips.

She closed her eyes, waiting. Suddenly the air around her opened and she heard a knock on the door as her priest bolted away from her. She fell back against the desk and felt hot liquid against her arse as one of the mugs of tea toppled over.

‘Come in,’ the priest called, as he brushed his hands through his hair, facing towards one of the windows.

A young man in his early twenties poked his head around the door, ‘hi Father, sorry to bother you...’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This question is for SPJ7/ Pepper Bean/ Cocoloco. If you do not answer correctly, you do not pass GO, collect $200 or get a new chapter:
> 
> True or false, religious architecture is important to the progression of this fic?


	5. I wonder what I’m denying. And why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, thanks for reading. Priest is taking a little dip in this chapter ;)
> 
> I also have the week off this week so I might try to post a couple of updates but i am very changeable and easily distracted so .. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Stay safe folks

The priest looked up to face the man who had gratuitously interrupted them. It was Sam, his new admin assistant. He smiled back at him and Sam began to speak.

His heart felt like it was hammering straight out of his rib cage, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, leaning against his desk and he hoped Sam couldn’t see the desire in his eyes.

As Sam rattled on, his awareness of his atheist became almost unbearable. It felt like every other second that his eyes shifted towards her, desperate to drink her in. Eventually, Sam went quiet and he realised he was waiting on a response.

He shrugged and shifted his body away from her, trying to focus on what Sam was saying. It seemed he wanted to arrange a finance meeting for Tuesday. He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled at Sam, agreeing with his suggestion. Sam moved towards the desk, picking up some papers and he turned involuntarily, following his Admin Assistant's movement. There she was, his atheist. She had moved to sit on the chair by his desk.

He wondered whether she was feeling the same as he was. The urge to kiss her still pulled at him. He had been trying, desperately, to find some reasons why he shouldn’t. But, like he’d told her, he was yet to come up with a single reason. The ache he’d felt over the last few months, the need, as he had lain in bed, wishing her out of his head, praying for an answer, it had all cumulated into this moment. And it was all he wanted.

Sam was still talking, he wanted to confirm the attendees at the finance meeting. As he began to reel off some names, she stood up.

‘Sorry,’ she interrupted, ‘I’ll leave you to it. Thank you Father.’ She smiled at him.

‘No!’

Sam flinched and his eyebrows shot up beneath his floppy fringe. He hadn’t meant to protest so loudly.

‘No, we’re done now, aren’t we, Sam?’

She couldn’t leave. Not yet.

‘Really,’ she gathered her bag and looked around herself, making a move to leave.

He stepped towards her, his hand on her forearm. ‘Really,’ he said firmly, catching her eye. ‘Ok, Sam?’

‘Yep, absolutely, thanks Father,’ Sam grinned widely at them both before heading out the door.

He turned back towards her. She was gazing down at his hand on her forearm. He leaned towards her, his forehead close to hers.

'Um, Father...?' She met his gaze before glancing over towards the open door.

Reluctantly, he let go of her and hurried towards the door, pushing it shut firmly and flicking the key to lock it.

‘You wanted to leave?’ He turned back towards his atheist.

‘Well... I- uh, I thought you were busy.’

‘You were going to leave?’

‘Well…’ she elongated the word as if she was questioning him.

‘I don’t want you to leave.’

‘Ok,’ her cheeks coloured slightly.

‘I don’t want you to stay or even be here really,’ he rubbed his hands in his eyes roughly. ‘But... I don’t want you to leave.’

‘Ok...' she laughed, 'should I take offence or...?’ Her lips turned up, a sarcastic smile at his predicament. ‘Are you ok, Father?’

Why was she still calling him that?

‘You... you...’ he sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

She was hovering, her bag on her shoulder. She looked uncertain of whether to sit back down or leave.

He took a tentative few steps towards her. ‘I can’t sleep.’

She dropped her bag from her shoulder to the chair and shifted, leaning against the desk.

He took a few more steps toward her until they were, again, inches apart. 

‘I lie awake, and you’re there. You’re in my head constantly, and I can’t sleep. And I wonder whether you’re testing me, or whether God is.’ He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be completely truthful with her about the struggles he had been feeling. It just seemed to spill out.

‘And I wonder,’ he placed his hands on her waist. Her sweater had ridden up, he tentatively brushed his fingertips against her skin. ‘I wonder what I’m denying. And why.’

He took a tiny step closer. Their bodies were now flush together. She brought her hand up to his face, her palm against his neck, her thumb skimming his cheek. He breathed her in. This was what he had been imagining for two months. Her scent, their lips, his hands brushing her skin.

‘You know what I mean?’ He breathed in deeply.

‘I’m not sure-‘ she began.

But he couldn’t stand it any longer, he pulled her against him and his lips were on hers. He felt her breath hitch as she parted her lips, welcoming him. He heard a sound escape his throat, a moan, as his hands found their way back to her waist. Her hands slid into his hair, pressing him into her.

She pulled away from him, ‘I really do like this long hair,’ she whispered softly into his lips.

He chuckled as she sat back on the desk, pulling him towards her, her legs wrapping around his waist.

‘You’re lovely,’ he murmured against her before kissing her again. They were deep, lingering kisses. They knocked all thought from his mind. He could feel her legs strong against his waist, her hands grazing the back of his neck, leaving tingling caresses.

He couldn’t breath. Softly, he slowed their kiss, his lips now leaving a tender trail against her chin.

‘I don’t think anyone has ever called me lovely before,’ she said thoughtfully as her hands pulled at the tab in his collar.

He leaned back, taking her in, and smiling softly before pressing his lips back onto hers. His hands found her waistband and he undid the button of her jeans, slipping his hand under the fabric.

She pulled at his shirt, undoing a few buttons before pulling the shirt off over his head. He had a thin black fitted T-shirt on underneath. She ran her hands down his chest to his abdomen and sighed, muttering a quiet expletive.

‘What?’ He whispered against her neck as he peppered kisses to her collarbone.

‘Have you been working out?’ She muttered.

‘What?’ His mind was full of her. His fingers were on her, feeling their way beneath the fabric of her underwear.

Her breath hitched again as his thumb finding her clit. He felt her hand on his chin as she dragged his mouth back to hers, melting together, another soft moan escaped his throat as he felt her hands reach for his belt.

She loosened his trousers, letting them fall as he moved his hands up to her sweater. He yanked it over her head before bringing his mouth down to her tits. He pulled her bra down, flicking his tongue over one hard nipple before moving to the other.

Her hands were on his boxers now, pulling at the waistband and closing around his cock. He’d never wanted anyone like he wanted her. He lifted her bum from the desk and pulled her jeans and underwear down.

‘Your arse is wet,’ he panted, vaguely aware of a damp sensation on her jeans.

‘I spilt the tea,’ she whispered into his ear before moving her lips to his neck and biting gently.

She was stroking his cock, soft slow strokes tenting against his boxers, he moved closer to her, grinding his hips into hers and she wrapped her legs back around his waist.

With a swift tug, his boxers were down, and she was angling her hips up, guiding his cock with her hand. He thrust his hips, one smooth stroke into her, before picking up a rhythm, driving into her.

Her hands were on his back, scrunching the t-shirt between her fingers as she pulled him into her. His hands found their way to her hair, he pulled her head back, biting down on her shoulder as he hammered into her, slapping his hips against her thighs.

He buried his nose into her neck, inhaling her as she moaned into his ear. He felt dazed, as if he was dreaming. He pulled his head back, opening his eyes to look to her face. She smiled at him, closed mouth, a small raise of the eyebrows and then his mouth was back on hers.

He moved his hand back to her clit, pulsing in time with his thrusts.

‘You feel so good,’ he whispered into her lips as she came, crying out his name.

It didn’t take long for him to follow, and he buried his face into her neck, biting down on his lip so as to quiet his moans.

He felt her rest her head on his shoulder, she was breathing heavily and her hands were still clutching at the back of his t-shirt, joining them together.

He pulled his head back, her cheeks were flushed, just as he remembered them from that night, a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as she tried to calm her breathing.

‘I lov-‘ he was interrupted by a loud bang at the door.

‘Father!’ It was a woman. There were no women working in this parish. He looked at his atheist, confused.

‘Father! Are you there? Have you seen my sister?’

‘Shit!’

‘Claire!’

They had realised at the same time. Her sister, ever so slightly intimidating and sounding incredibly angry, was banging on the door.

‘Fuck!’ He turned away from her, yanking his trousers up and searching for his shirt. She was searching for her sweater and he passed her some tissues, suddenly ultra aware that, yet again, and like a good Catholic couple, they had failed to use any sort of contraception.

‘Father?!’ Claire was still knocking.

‘Hi Claire, hi!’ He called out breathlessly, eyes scanning the floor for the discarded collar tab as he redid the buttons on his shirt. ‘One second, the lock on this door jams, I’ll just have to play around with it.’

He rushed over to the door and jiggled the key slightly as his atheist finished redressing and flattened out her hair. She still looked flushed. He realised with a painful thought that this would probably be the image that would be torturing him as he lay awake at night for the next few months at least.

‘Why did you lock it?’ Claire was muffled through the door.

‘Sorry, Claire, two seconds.’

Finally, when she had sat down in the chair, he undid the key and opened the door.

‘Claire,’ he plastered on a smile, ‘how are you? Your sister was just visiting here,’ he gestured behind him and moved aside for Claire to enter the room.

Claire walked in, looking around suspiciously, ‘is this your office, Father?’

‘Something like that, yes,’ he headed towards the mini kitchenette. ‘Can I get you a tea?’

‘No,’ she said brusquely, before forcing a smile. ‘Er, thanks. I just was worried when I woke up and she,’ she flicked her head towards her sister, ‘wasn’t there. I took a wild guess at where she might be.’

What did that mean?

He looked at his atheist. She had yet to say anything and was sitting at his desk, gazing around the room with a wry smile on her lips.

Claire looked at him shrewdly before turning back to her sister, ‘so, shall we go? Did you have a nice _talk_?’ He did not enjoy the way she had emphasised ‘talk’.

‘Yep,’ his atheist hopped up from the desk, her hands immediately rubbing her arse where, no doubt, there was a large stain of spilt tea. ‘We had a _lovely_ catch up.’ She caught his eye and smiled.

‘Ok good,’ Claire turned to him, ‘nice to see you Father. I’m sure my dad and Stepmother will like to hear you’re well.’

‘Thanks Claire, enjoy the rest of your trip. You should try and check out Kilmainham Gaol. I was telling your sister here about it, I think she’d fit in well.’ He winked at her but she had looked away.

They moved to the door. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to say a proper goodbye. He couldn’t bear another two months of questioning himself and his beliefs. He couldn’t bear another two months of remembering the look on her face as they parted.

But Claire was ushering her sister out of the door, waving her arms like a mother might hurry their child. He forced smiled at them both and clasped his hands together.

‘Good to see you, Father,’ Claire smiled.

‘Bye,’ he called, desperately searching to make eye contact with his atheist.

She was halfway down the corridor, her sister muttering to her quietly.

‘Bye,’ he called again.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching his eyes and smiling her secret half smile.

And then they were gone.

He stepped back and sank into his chair. _Her_ chair. He couldn’t believe he’d seen her. And they had done _that_. In here. He looked up at the various paintings of Jesus on the walls.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered out loud. ‘I’m sorry.’


	6. ‘You googled me?’ ‘You googled me first'

‘What were you thinking?’ Claire didn’t even wait until we were at the end of the corridor before launching into her tirade.

‘His hair was all over the place. I’ve never seen two people who have more obviously just had sex in my life,’ Claire scowled.

As they turned the corner, she looked back at her priest, he was still standing at the door, staring after her, one hand up in a wave. She caught his eye and smiled before heading out into the main church building.

‘I mean, look at you,’ Claire was still muttering, ‘you’ve got a bite mark on your neck.’

She reached up to her neck instinctively. Had he bitten her?

‘Claire, it’s fine.’

‘It is not fine.’

‘It’s fine. We had a good talk.’

‘A good talk?!’ Claire opened her eyes incredulously. ‘A good talk before he stuck his, you know...’ she trailed off.

‘Stuck his what?’ She grinned at Claire as they headed out of the church into the cool Dublin air.

‘You know,’ Claire held her hand out for a taxi.

‘What are you talking about?’ She was enjoying this.

Claire tutted and got into the cab, ‘honestly, you’re like a child.

‘All I did was visit him. I watched his service, it was nice,’ she thought back to the looks he had given her during his service.

‘Why is your sweater on inside out?’ Claire tugged at the tag sticking out the back of her sweater.

‘I got dressed in the dark this morning, _you_ were snoring.’

Claire just tutted again and sat back into her seat, arms crossed across her chest.

‘Why did he recommend we visit a gaol?’

‘I don’t know,’ she laughed softly. ‘He thinks I’ll end up in prison, I guess.’

‘Bit harsh.’

She shrugged, thinking back to her priest. His face as he had told her she was lovely. That was something she wouldn’t get out of her mind for a long time, she thought chewing her bottom lip.

‘Seriously,’ Claire had turned to her, placing her hand on top of hers on the seat. ‘What were you doing? He moved away.’

She looked softer. Slightly pitying.

‘I know,’ she swallowed the lump in her throat.

_Moved countries. To get away from me._

But he said he didn’t know why he was denying himself, a niggling thought broke through.

‘Do you love him?’

‘What?’ She answered sharply. ‘No.’

Claire raised her eyebrows.

‘Of course I don’t.’

‘Well, what are you doing then?’

***

The priest was feeling guilty as he began to mop up the spilt tea, relishing the feeling of her lips on his. Yes... he _was_ feeling guilty. Not because of what they’d done. But because he couldn’t find a single reason to regret it.

He threw the dish cloth into the sink and rinsed off the cups.

What was so bad? About loving someone? Someone who made your entire outlook brighter. Someone who wouldn’t judge you, or your past, who could make your breathing stop with just a curl of her lips. What was so bad about that?

And what was so bad about kissing that someone? Her lips brushing softly against yours, her sighs in your ears as you expressed your love towards her? Why was that wrong?

He didn’t know. Love was something he praised almost daily with his sermons. It was something he preached to his parishioners, something he celebrated when he talked of marriage.

He headed out into the church. What was on his schedule for the day? He had no idea. She was everywhere. He could smell her perfume on his shirt, he lent his nose down and inhaled deeply.

‘Father?’

‘Yep, yes?’ He jerked his head up. It was Sam again.

‘Did your guest leave?’

‘Yes, she’s gone.’

Sam smiled, ‘good.’

‘Good?’ He flicked his head to Sam, one eyebrow raised.

‘I mean,’ Had Sam’s cheeks flushed? ‘You’re free to go over the plans for next weekend then?’

Next weekend. His first wedding ceremony in Ireland. His first real Catholic one. He followed Sam, his hands shoved into his pockets, thinking back to the only other wedding he had conducted. His atheist. Her face in the crowd. Why was it so bad?

***

Panda was wild. The bank manager had barely opened his front door before the wonky eyed puppy was squeezing out and pelting down the pathway. His tail was wagging furiously.

‘Hello Panda,’ she bent down and allowed him to lick her face.

‘I, uh, think he missed you,’ the Bank Manager said drily. ‘The Guinea pigs are fine too.’

She stood up, ‘thanks so much. Was he ok?’

‘A bit manic, but the kids liked him, so...’ he held up his hands.

‘Here,’ she shoved a bag towards him containing some airport bought whiskey. ‘Just a little thanks.’

She had meant to get him a proper gift, but somehow things had gotten off track slightly following the church visit.

‘Thanks,’ he took the item awkwardly.

‘Well-‘

‘Ok, I’d better be off.’

They smiled at each other, uncertain of how to proceed before she leashed Panda and turned to head down the path.

‘I’ll come by the cafe this week,’ the bank manager called after her.

‘Great, thanks again,’ she smiled, closing the gate.

Panda was ecstatic, his nose to the ground the entire walk home, taking in anything and everything he could. She followed behind him, allowing him to tug her as he walked.

The road was quiet, the traffic non existent, and a gentle breeze fluttering through the leaves. It felt so... peaceful.

_I’m not thinking about anyone._

They turned into her street and she drifted out of her reverie, noticing Claire’s car was still parked outside her flat. Her sister had dropped her from the airport but she’d expected her to head off to see Klare when she’d left to pick up Panda.

_What now?_

She let herself in. Sure enough, Claire was standing in the kitchen, leaning agitatedly against the counter.

‘Thought you were going home?’

‘I’m worried.’

She knelt down and unclipped Panda’s leash. He pelted over to Claire who batted him away.

‘About what? Women Speak? Trust me, I am too.’

‘No,’ Claire edged out of the kitchen, pushing Panda down from her knees. ‘About you.’

‘Me?’ She leant on the window sill and clicked a window open, lighting a cigarette.

‘Yes. You. And your priest.’

‘He isn’t my-‘

‘Be quiet,’ Claire interrupted.

The sisters stared at each other. She took another drag of her cigarette, waiting.

‘I don’t know what _he’s_ doing. But _you_ need to be careful,’ she came over to the window, crinkling her nose at the wafts of smoke from the cigarette. ‘You’re not as strong as you think you are. And I think he’ll hurt you again.’

‘Seriously Claire,’ she leant out the window and exhaled. ‘I’ll be ok.’

‘I know you will,’ Claire was being oddly soft. ‘But you deserve better than “ok”, ok?’

***

The priest was pacing. The wedding was in two hours. And he hadn’t written anything for his homily. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to see his atheist. The job that had previously felt like his life’s passion, now merely felt like a job. He would do it, he’d enjoy it whilst he was there. But he wasn’t living for it.

He could just go with the cliche: ‘love is patient, love is kind’, he thought as he ran his fingers through his hair.

‘Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with truth’? Well, whatever fucking devil was causing this feeling was delighting in it. He sat down heavily in his chair.

Four hours later and the wedding was over. He ended up going with Romans, ‘Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer’. It wasn’t particularly inspiring, but it had gone well, especially without the woman he loved gazing at him from the pews, firing him up to protest fiercely about hope.

There was a couple of hours until the Saturday evening mass. The priest sat down in one of the now empty pews, the wedding party having moved onto their celebrations. He still had his robes from the wedding on. White. Not the ones he’d picked out with her. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to wear those again.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on thighs, fingers interlinked and bowed his head. It was time for a prayer.

***

Claire was being oddly intrusive. She had called a few times this week and was now forcing her to go out for some drinks, dragging Klare along too. The threesome was a weird one. Claire was going hard on the wine and Klare, who seemed focused only on making sure his beau was happy, was matching her glass for glass. She had spent enough time sitting with them, listening to them talk in a cutesy couply way. But there was only so much of that she could handle. So that left her to just keep drinking and to flirt with the bartender as she tried to get her priest out of her mind. The bartender had an eyebrow ring and a tattoo on his wrist that said ‘bite me’. It was interesting to say the least.

Not interesting enough though. She knocked back a shot of tequila and headed outside, cigarette in hand. By now she was feeling a little hazy from the tequila and the lack of dinner wasn’t helping. She leant back idly against the wall, watching a couple who had snuck off down an alleyway.

Suddenly her phone buzzed in her hand. Incoming call: +353. She didn’t recognise that country code.

_Fuck it._

‘Hi?’ She answered, swaying slightly against the wall.

‘Hello.’

Her heart leapt as a soft Irish lilt greeted her.

‘Hello,’ she smiled down the phone.

‘Hi,’ he said again. She looked at her watch, 11.50pm.

_Drunk dial?_

‘I got your number from your website,’ he sounded slightly off. Some sort of alcohol buzz, she assumed.

‘You googled me?’

‘You googled me first... You have a website?’

She did. She had just set it up actually. The bank manager had informed her it may help business to have some form of online presence. So far all it had was a picture of Hillary and some contact details.

‘Yeah, I’m tech savvy now. How did you know I googled you?’

She heard him laugh quietly.

'How else would you have found my church?'

_Fair enough._

‘So,’ she prompted him, ‘you rang?’

‘Are you busy?’

She could imagine his face, eyes wide at the thought he had interrupted something. Or someone.

‘I was just watching some guy fingering his girlfriend down a side alley actually,’ now she could imagine the eyebrow raise.

‘I see,’ she could almost hear his smile, picture his eyes crinkling in delight at her honesty. ‘Good show?’

‘ _We’d_ look better,’ she cringed slightly at her statement. He could easily bolt from the conversation.

_Oh, what the hell._

She stood in silence. Waiting for a response. She could hear him take a sip of something.

‘You drinking?’

‘Whisky,’ he replied. ‘You?’

‘Tequila.’

She walked round to the front of the pub and sat on one of the benches, lighting another cigarette.

‘So, what did your sister say to you?’

‘About finding me post-shag in your office, you mean?’

He laughed again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘About what?’

‘I don’t know...’ he sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you there now? The scene of the crime?’

She imagined him in the bright room. A tumbler and a bottle of whisky in front of him. His collar undone.

‘I’m sitting in your chair.’

‘ _My_ chair?’

‘Yeah, the one you sat in.’

‘I sat on the table.’

‘I remember.’

Silence again. She wondered what was on his mind, why he had called her.

Once again the tequila and wine spurred her on, ‘so is this a booty call?’

‘I wish,’ his response was quick. ‘Don’t suppose you’re still in Dublin are you?’

‘Afraid not,’ she laughed again.

‘Fuck,’ was his only response.

She smoked her cigarette and heard him pour out some more whiskey.

‘Your tits really did ruin my peace, you know?’

‘Sorry,’ she was enjoying this.

‘Don’t be... you’re not really...’ She heard another sip, ‘I had a wedding today.’

‘Didn’t know your were engaged, Father,’ she quipped.

‘Fuck off,’ he laughed. ‘My first real Catholic one.’

He sounded happy. She stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. Claire and Klare had just spilled out of the pub onto the street. Claire called her over.

‘How was it?’ She waved her sister away.

‘It was fine. I talked about love.’

Her mind flew back to the declaration he tried to make. In his office as they had clung to each other, trying to regain their breath, “I love y-“. Cut off by Claire. What would she have said in response? If he had had a chance to finish his statement?

“Love feels like an understatement, Father.”  
Or  
“I literally think about you every other waking second, you bastard.”

By this time Claire and Klare were in front of her, her sister was being propped up slightly and looked a little worse for wear.

‘I’m taking your sister home now,’ Klare said, gesturing to a cab. ‘You’re ok? You want to join?’

‘I’m fine,’ she waved them off and began to walk down the road towards her flat. It was only a few minutes walk, the advantages of Claire's planning.

The priest was still talking, ‘I pictured you during the homily. I was talking about love. And then I came here and drank and pictured you some more. Who were you talking to?’

‘Oh just choosing which poor sod to take home with me, Father,’ she joked. ‘You got drunk and pictured me?’ Her mind was slow, it took some time to catch up with what he had said. ‘What was I doing?’

He laughed and cleared his throat, ‘well,’ he elongated the word into two syllables.

‘Go on.’

‘You were sitting in your seat, here in my office.’

‘And what were _you_ doing?’ She turned onto her street.

‘I was... kneeling in front of you.’

A shiver ran through her at the thought.

‘Kneeling in prayer... or?’

‘You could say that,’ he muttered, taking another sip. ‘Kneeling in worship might be more accurate.’

She thought back to their night together. Worship was certainly a good way to describe it, he had devoted a decent amount of time to worship that night.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m just about to open my front door.’

‘Any late night visitors tonight?’

She wondered if he was thinking about the lawyer. Mr Nine Times.

‘None tonight,’ she unlocked the door and switched on a light.

From the sofa, a sleepy Panda opened his eye lazily. He hopped down and plodded over to her, winking his gammy eye.

‘Hello,’ she cooed softly, kneeling down to scratch under his chin.

‘Who’s there?’ Her priest sounded concerned.

‘I have a dog.’

‘Oh,’ he sighed loudly. ‘For a second I thought... it sounded like...’

‘What?’ She laughed, picking Panda up and heading into her bedroom.

‘It sounded like you were talking to a baby,’ he laughed self consciously.

‘Nope, just a dog. He’s the only man in my life,’ she settled onto her bed, plonking Panda down beside her. He yawned and curled up on top of the pillow.

‘Good.’

‘Good?’

‘You know what I mean,’ he sighed again.

‘I have no idea, Father,’ she put the phone on the side table and put it on speaker. It was time to get ready for bed.

She stood and stripped off her jeans and tee.

‘What are you doing now?’ The Irish lilt came loudly through the speaker.

‘Getting naked.’

He swallowed and she heard him take a gulp of whiskey.

‘Sorry, should I have lied?’ She searched around for a t-shirt to sleep in.

‘No… you haven’t moved house have you?’

‘No, I haven’t moved.’

‘Good,’ she heard a glass clang.

‘Spill something, Father?’ She finally located a t-shirt and pulled it over her head before slipping beneath the bed covers.

‘There’s a slight situation. Nothing I can’t handle. Are you in bed now?’

‘Yep,’ she snuggled down under the covers, the phone resting next to her face on the pillow.

'Dressed?'

She laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘Yep, I have my man snoring on the other side of the bed.’

‘Your dog, you mean.’

‘You jealous?’

‘Yes. Do you want me to hang up now? I can go back to drinking and picturing you.’

She laughed. She wished she could see him.

‘You haven’t cut your hair have you?’

‘What?’

‘Your hair, it was longer. You haven’t cut it have you?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Good. Don’t… please.’

‘Don’t?’ He laughed. ‘Why not?’

‘I like it long. I like to picture you, too.’

Silence. Then... 

‘So, do you want me to leave you to sleep?’

She absolutely did not.

‘No.’

‘Ok, what do you want to do?’

‘Keeping this in the realms of possibility… I want to talk to you, I suppose? Tell me something.’

As he began to talk, telling her a story of a Dublin fox he had recently seen, she couldn’t help feeling a little more than “ok”.


	7. ‘You said it was ok if I called?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. Sorry for the lengthy break. I have no real excuse except that I didn't really feel like writing so apologies to those who were asking for an update.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Leave comments with your thoughts. 
> 
> Stay safe folks.
> 
> #LonglivePhoebeWallerBridge

She woke up with a start. The lamp by the bed was shining brightly into her eyes and the morning sun was beaming through the window.

What time was it?

Her phone was cradled in the palm of her hand next to her face. She tapped the screen.

‘Oh fuck!’

Next to her Panda flinched in his sleep.

‘Oh, you’re awake,’ came a cheery sing song voice from the phone speaker.

‘Hello?’ She peered at the phone, eyes half closed and sleepy.

On the screen was a +353 number, with a call time of 6 hours and 23 minutes.

‘Hello,’ the voice replied again.

It was her priest. It was 6.15 in the morning and her priest was greeting her softly on the other end of the phone.

‘What’s happening?’ She rubbed her face blearily. The tequila and wine from the evening before was aggressively pounding at her head now.

He laughed. She loved it when he laughed.

‘Have you forgotten?’

_Shit!_

‘Forgotten what?’ Was it time to panic?

‘We were talking on the phone. Don’t you remember?’

Fuck, she’d drunk dialled him?!

_Time to panic!_

‘Did I call you?’ She reached over and switched the bedside lamp off before collapsing back onto the pillow.

‘Oh! You actually don’t remember!’ She heard a kettle boil and the tinkle of a spoon on a mug.

‘What?’ What the fuck had she done?

He laughed again. Her heart fluttered at the sound and she pulled the phone closer to her ear. As if she could pull him closer to her.

‘ _I_ called _you_ … I had had...’ he paused, ‘perhaps a little too much whiskey, and I called you.’

‘Oh.’

‘And we were chatting, until quite late.’

Now the memories were coming back. He had told her some stories about living in Dublin. And he’d told her he was picturing her with him...

‘And I think we both fell asleep,' he continued, 'because I woke up about an hour ago and I could hear you snoring down the other end of my phone.’

She could picture the cheeky smile, the crinkle of his eyes.

‘I don’t snore,’ she sat up against the bed head and Panda snuggled close to her under the covers.

She could hear him take a sip.

‘I didn’t want to hang up on you,’ he continued. ‘So I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.’

He waited for her to wake up. She beamed widely, staring down at Panda. He waited for her to wake up. Her pounding headache of a moment ago seemed to have vanished. He waited for her to wake up!

‘You didn’t have t-,’ she began.

‘I know,’ he cut her off before taking another sip of his drink. ‘I wanted to.’

Now she could hear him walking, a gentle, soft pad of his feet against wooden floor.

‘So are you always up this early?’

Being awake at 6.15 on a Sunday felt needlessly torturous. Although weirdly, despite her hatred of early mornings, she couldn’t find a single urge to return to sleep at this exact moment.

He laughed again. A chuckle. Was he always this cheery in the mornings? Last time, when he had woken up in this bed, he had seemed slightly… mournful?

‘This early? I’m late actually. I need to shower and be out but I wanted you to wake up first. Didn’t want to leave the phone unattended so I’ve got myself some tea while I waited.’

‘You could have taken me with you to the shower,’ she smiled to herself at the thought.

‘Could I have?’

She could sense his smile too.

‘You could even have put video chat on. I wouldn’t have peaked.’

‘I’m not sure that’s tru-.’

‘Ok, I would have.’

‘So...’ he sounded quieter now. He stopped talking.

‘So?’ She filled the silence.

‘Did you mind that I called you? Last night, I mean?’

Hmm, did she mind that he’d called her? It was an almost laughable thing to consider.

‘Of course I didn’t mind. I love that you called me.’

‘Ok, so I could call again?’

‘You can call again.’

‘Ok. I will. And, now...’

She waited, feeling slightly breathless at what his next sentence would be.

‘…with a 6 and a half hour international call on my hands, I might leave you to your morning.’

_Oh fuck._

‘Oh fuck!’

‘It’s ok, it’s ok,’ he was laughing. ‘It’s worth it.’

‘Fuck! I’m sorry!’

Honestly, it’s ok. I’m glad we got to chat last night _and_ this morning.’

‘Me too.’

‘Good.’

She pressed the phone tightly to her ear. Desperate to bring him closer to her.

‘Well…’ he said after a few seconds silence.

‘Well…’ she didn’t want him to hang up.

‘Have a good day.’

‘You too.’

Once he had hung up, she looked down at her phone, hot from its night of activity and dangerously low on battery.

He had waited for her to wake up. She grinned at Panda and ruffled his ears. Because he didn’t want to hang up on her. Panda opened one eye sleepily. Unlike his owner, he was clearly not at all happy at the early wake up call.

But she couldn’t go back to sleep now. She felt like her whole body was buzzing. Adrenaline rushing through her.

He was probably showering right now, she thought, before hopping out of bed and heading to do the same. Somehow the thought of them both showering, albeit countries apart, was a nice one.

She ripped of her T-shirt and stepped under the water. Closing her eyes, with the steaming water falling on her, it was easy to imagine her priest was there with her, his long hair slicked back from his face as he leaned towards her. Her hand made its way down her body and she found a rhythm against her clit as she imagined his body pressed against hers.

****

The priest was practically skipping as he went about his chores in the church. He grinned at Sam, his assistant, who was sweeping the church foyer. He bubbled over with joy as he spoke to his parishioners, asking about their week and welcoming them to the service. At confession, he let every single confession go with a gentle admonishment and advice to forgive themselves. No Hail Mary’s or Our Fathers today.

Before he knew it, it was lunch time and he was sitting in his office, one hand leafing idly through a bible and the other propping up his chin as thoughts of his atheist flew through his mind.

‘Father,’ the voice sounded distant. ‘Um.. Father?’

His eyes refocused and he sat up as he realised Sam was staring at him worriedly.

‘Hi,’ he straightened up in his chair and closed his bible. ‘Sorry Sam. How can I help?’

‘You have a visitor. A lady. She says she knows you?’

His stomach dropped and he flew out of his chair. His atheist? She’d come back to see him? His heart was hammering against his ribcage and he brushed his hair down self consciously. It was too long really. He needed to get it cut. But she’d asked him not to.

‘So...’ Sam was still staring. ‘Should I let her in?’

‘Yes, yes,’ he stammered. ‘Yes of course, Sam.’

He bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets as he waited for her. She was back. For him.

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he heard two sets of footsteps approach the office door.

‘You’re back,’ he said softly as the visitor rounded the corner and came into view.

‘I’m back, Father,’ a short, blond, round faced young woman beamed at him.

She couldn’t have been more than 20 years old, and was most certainly _not_ his atheist, he thought, as his heart sank and he leaned back against his desk.

Her smile faltered slightly at his lack of response, ‘you said I could come whenever I needed to chat?’

‘Of course, of course,’ he pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out to shake hers. ‘Welcome, sit down, er-‘

‘Rachael,’ she finished for him, sliding into his atheist’s seat.

‘Of course, Rachael.’ He smiled at her. ‘How can I help?’

****

She had had a fairly productive day. The quick shower wank had set her off well. It had been followed by an early morning walk with Panda, a mid morning call from Claire, who now claimed she would never drink ever again and seemed to be desperately jealous of her sister’s lack of hangover, and now she was in the cafe, which was bustling with Sunday afternoon customers looking for pricey sandwiches and toasties.

She leant back against the counter, a cup of coffee in her hands, thoughts drifting to her priest. Each time she remembered his laugh, or the fact that he had stayed on the phone to her all night, she felt a slight smile play on her lips.

‘What’s up with you today, love?’

It was Joe.

‘You’re smiling,’ he called from his table by the counter.

‘I smile sometimes,’ she put her mug down and moved towards him.

‘You bloody well don’t. You scowl.’

‘I’m trying something new.’

‘Well, can you try something new and refill my coffee at the same time, love?

Six and a half hours, her thoughts drifted. She wished she knew what his room looked like. She wanted to imagine him, laying in his bed, phone on his pillow as they both slept. It was almost like they had slept together.

_Except without the orgasm._

‘Come on!’ Joe called.

_Multiple orgasms._

‘Some time today?’ Joe was getting crabby.

_The man truly knows how to worship._

‘I’ll do it myself,’ Joe pushed back his chair.

She grabbed Joe’s coffee cup and scowled at him before turning back to the counter to refill it.

‘That’s better,’ he settled back in his seat and diverted his attention back to his crossword..

A few hours later, as she began to clear away the last of the plates and had turned the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, her phone began to buzz.

Him!

She hadn’t expected him to call again so soon. She grabbed the phone.

‘I didn’t realise you meant this soon,’ she answered eagerly.

‘Uh, hello…uh… what?’

_Damn._

‘Dad?’

‘Hello, dear… good day?’

‘Yeah, I, uh, I’m just closing the cafe.’

‘Good.’

‘Did she answer?’ She could hear her Godmother screech in the background.

‘So, listen, darling…’

‘Admit it!’ Her Godmother cried.

‘What? Dad?’

’So darling, we… uh… we noticed… uh… in the garden…’

‘It was her animal, I know it.’ Her Godmother was getting louder now.

‘In the garden… some flower beds were… slightly… trampled?’

She snorted, ‘what, Dad?’

’Well… I think… your dog…’

‘Panda.’

‘Yes, well… we think it may have…’

She laughed again, shielding her mouth slightly from the phone to avoid antagonising her father, she didn’t need this to ruin her day.

‘Listen, dad. I have to go, but if you’re accusing Panda of trampling some of your plants, he probably did. He’s just a puppy and you made him stay outside alone.’

‘Yes… well. Ok.’

‘Has she admitted it?’ Her godmother was still screeching. Suddenly her voice came booming down the phone. ‘Keep your mutt away from my flowers, ok?’

She finished wiping the tables and switched off the coffee machine, phone perched between her ear and shoulder. ‘No problem. We won’t come round.’

This whole thing was comical.

But her Godmother was still angry. Clearly the trampled flower beds were quite the issue. She grabbed her bag and put on her coat, placing the phone on the counter, allowing her Godmother’s screeches to dissipate into the air.

She glanced around the cafe, checking everything was cleared before picking the phone back up.

’Look,’ she stepped out the cafe. ‘Its fine. We won’t come to the house, ok?’

With that she hung up the phone and lit a cigarette as she began her 15 minute walk home.

‘Extra treats tonight, Panda,’ she muttered to herself as she took a drag.

Back home, she picked up her puppy and snuggled him close to her, his tail thumping aggressively against her side.

‘Panda, do you think my priest will call us tonight?’ She flung herself down on the sofa and grabbed the TV remote. ‘He was a bit jealous of you, I think.’

Panda stared at her, winking aggressively, his tongue hanging out his mouth.

‘Ok, what shall we watch?’ She pulled her legs up onto the sofa and patted the spot next to her for Panda to join.

Twenty minutes later, as she was still trying to pick a show and Panda had settled into a gentle snore beside her, the buzzer rang. Panda’s eye flicked open and they both stared at the door.

‘Probably someone with a bible trying to sell their religion,’ she shrugged to her puppy, settling back down.

The door buzzed again.

‘Hello?’ Came a muffled voice. ‘Hello?’

A sudden flare of joy surged through her as she leapt off the sofa and flew towards to the door.

‘Hello?’

She grabbed the key and shoved it into the door, fumbling slightly. Finally, managing to unlock, she pulled the door open wildly, her cheeks suddenly feeling hot.

There he stood. Right in front of her, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes meeting hers.

‘Hello,’ her hand was still on the door as she stared at him.

He furrowed his eyebrows together, hands awkwardly clasped in front of him.

‘You said it was ok if I called?’


End file.
